Far from the traditional image of Russian music as a stately exercise in pomp comes this excellent recording of RUSSIAN ADAGIOS. Like its name implies, this disc contains slow movements of Russian composers, from the theatrical as well as symphonic repertoire. Under Russian conductor Yevgeny Svetlanov, these pieces shine with depth and lyricism. Particularly beautiful and sublime are the "Petit Adagio" from Alexander Glazunov's ballet 'The Seasons' which connects with emotions that bridge style periods, and the Adagio from Prokofiev's 'Cinderella' which highlights the brilliance of Russian 20th-century composition which broke from the official mold. Finally, there is the "Pas D'Action" from'Sleeping Beauty' of Tchaikovsky which never fails in its melodic wonder. This is a recording that gets at the heart of Russian music, which is worth the exploration.

Classical Music

This is the first of two releases of Chamber Works for Strings by Kaija Saariaho, and also a tribute to the composer Kaija Saariaho who turned 60 on 14th of October 2012. Saariaho is renowned across the world for her vivid orchestration. Her chamber works highlight her ability to create unique sound worlds with only a few instruments. Here she also adds live electronics to create a unique colour.

Ondine releases the long-awaited second instalment of Kaija Saariaho’s (b. 1958) chamber works with the award-winning Meta4 string quartet. The recording also includes three chamber music songs together with soprano Pia Freund. Kaija Saariaho (b. 1958) is one of the most important Finnish contemporary composers. She is equally known for her operas, the oratorio La Passion de Simone, orchestral works and concertos and also for rich small-scale works. Saariaho’s instrumental style is particularly richly manifested in her works for strings, where she makes use of a variety of playing techniques.

Classical Music

Helsinki–born Parisian Kaija Saariaho’s music sounds like little else, its kaleidoscopic magic evoking Debussy refracted into the twenty-first century. This album includes the ghostly Terra memoria for string orchestra, expanded from a chamber original for the Emerson String Quartet. The beautifully scored vocal suite from Emilie, a 2011 one-woman opera about pioneering eighteenth-century scientist Emilie du Châtelet, will appeal to those beguiled by Saariaho’s dazzling first opera, L’Amour de loin (the works share a librettist, too, French-Lebanese poet Amin Maalouf). One can’t imagine the high-flying vocal role’s originator, Finnish diva Karita Mattila, being much better than French soprano Karen Vourc’h is here, nor in the shimmering song cycle Quatre Instants, also written for Mattila.

– Bradley Bambarger, Listen Magazine

Saariaho: Maa (Earth)

A likely masterpiece from Finland joins new music from scintillating Saariaho

Kaija Saariaho is the Finnish composer, alongside Magnus Lindberg, who most excites me at present. Like her fellow countryman, she finds textures that feel absolutely fresh, vibrant and full of colour. Her journeys of imagination here are gripping. And it’s good to see such high-profile performers in new music – perhaps especially the sublime Karita Mattila.

-- Gramophone [11/2008]

SAARIAHO Notes on Light.1 Orion. Mirage1,2 • Christopher Eschenbach, cond; Anssi Karttunen (vc);1 Karita Mattila (sop);2 O de Paris • ONDINE 1130 (63:22)

Kaija Saariaho writes exciting music. At one time associated with the spectral school of composition, in which spectra, the harmonic fingerprints of sound, were used to generate new works, she’s been able to assimilate and then transcend such a purely analytical approach to arrive at her present individual, communicative language. In the past, she’s also broadened her palette with electronics. Her vivid music is characterized by an acute sense of color and texture, allied to a sure feeling for form and pacing. Melody, too, plays an important part. Although there are no big tunes to whistle, the musical flow can be lyrical, even rhapsodic. At times, an almost oriental melisma wafts through the music: at others, what I would call “proto-melodies” (four or five note phrases) accrete to form larger modules, most notably in Orion.

Notes on Light, Saariaho’s cello concerto, often projects a mysterious mood. Glissandos of varying lengths in cello and orchestra, and a line that sways and sighs as it evolves and devolves suggest a yearning, or questing aspiration. The evocative title comes from T. S. Eliot’s The Wasteland, and inspired Saariaho’s vision of the cello as a source of light. The energetic second movement stands apart from the rest, with swift, downward cascades in tuned percussion and flute mirrored by exuberant, upward-winging piccolo flurries. These effects, plus the churning cello, create a drive and momentum distinct from the slower, exploratory nature of the other four movements. That’s not to say that the rest of the concerto is placid, or without internal drama. Throughout, Saariaho skillfully deploys her “transparent” orchestra in often-delicate counterpoint to the soloist.

Orion finds Saariaho reveling in larger forces, with more brass (there are no trumpets and trombones in the concerto) and even organ: some of the climactic moments must be quite overwhelming in person. Unifying thematic elements link the three movements. A subtle pulse as Orion begins arrests the attention, drawing the listener into this “constellation” of sound. Gradually, ideas and images coalesce, until the orchestra achieves a monumental presence worthy of the young god. The volume waxes and wanes, but the overall impression is massive. The second movement’s texture is primarily diaphanous, although heavier “clouds” of sound arise before the ethereal conclusion. A piccolo plays a pastoral tune over a dreamily shimmering background, ushering in a violin solo that could be a distant cousin to Shéhérazade. This gives way to an exotic, sinuous clarinet and oboe, and so it goes, one colorful episode succeeding another. The third movement starts out like Notes on Light’s second, but becomes even more wild and tempestuous. Trumpets, swirling winds, and scintillating strings fluoresce, illuminating the orchestral landscape. The storm eventually subsides, its mass floating away, the last note struck by a single triangle.

Mirage is a passionate setting of the “song” of a Mexican woman, shaman, and healer who, in this ecstatic musical incarnation, affirms her being while summoning the forces that pass through her to effect her cures. Karita Mattila brings Saariaho’s hypnotic score to vibrant life, swooping and gliding effortlessly, imparting a palpable exaltation. From the first half-whispered “I am” one is swept up and riveted by this spellbinding performance. The cello is an equal partner in Mirage, probing at the opening, acquiring confidence, and increasing in strength until it joins with the voice in its voyage of discovery. The two dip and soar in tandem, although the melodic outline is not identical.

Mattila and Karttunen are superb musicians who are perfectly attuned to Saariaho’s style. Their long friendship with the composer guarantees informed, sympathetic performances, and it would be difficult to imagine better ones. Eschenbach and the orchestra support the soloists beautifully in Notes on Light and Mirage, and contribute stunning playing in Orion. Saariaho’s many admirers will enjoy these latest additions to her discography, while anyone who’s been afraid to dip a toe into contemporary waters should consider taking the plunge, for while undeniably “modern,” the music’s range of expression, melodic flexibility, invention, and pervasive color make it immediately accessible. While not neo-Romantic by any means, it’s nonetheless music that manifests beauty and feeling in every note.

FANFARE: ROBERT SCHULSLAPER

Kaija Saariaho (b. 1952) is among the most prominent names in contemporary music scene today. This new album by the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra conducted by Hannu Lintu includes world première recordings of three works by Saariaho featuring bass-baritone Gerald Finley and harpist Xavier de Maistre as soloists. True Fire is a six-movement song cycle that was written to a commission from the Los Angeles Philharmonic, the NDR Symphony Orchestra, the BBC Symphony Orchestra and the Orchestre National de France, for baritone Gerald Finley with an original idea to explore the scope of the baritone voice. The texts conclusively determined what the vocal expression would be like and how the details in the musical material would shape up. The disparate texts chosen by Saariaho in fact have a common underlying theme: the status of humankind surrounded by nature, our observations of it and our belonging to it. Saariaho’s orchestral triptych Orion (2002) is one of her most performed works. Orion as a celestial phenomenon is showcased in the middle movement, Winter Sky. In 2013, Saariaho rescored this movement for a smaller orchestra, and to distinguish it from the original she gave it a title in French with the same meaning, Ciel d’hiver. It joins the series of works by Saariaho that are in one way or another inspired by things in sky and space. Trans for harp and orchestra is the composer’s latest addition to a series of concertos. It was written to a joint commission from the Suntory Foundation for Arts, the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra, the Swedish Radio Symphony Orchestra, the Tonhalle Orchestra in Zurich, Radio France and the Hessen Radio Orchestra. The premiere was given by Xavier de Maistre in Tokyo in August 2016.

Aulis Sallinen and his slightly older contemporary Einojuhani Rautavaara (b. 1928) are currently the grand old men of Finnish music and have been taking turns in the limelight for some time. Sallinen had an opera performed at Covent Garden in the 1980s, while Rautavaara’s breakthrough work, his seventh symphony, Angel of Light, came in 1994. They have each written eight symphonies – and it is as important for a Nordic composer to get beyond seven, because Sibelius didn’t, as it is for one in the German tradition to reach nine, because Beethoven did. A box of Rautavaara’s symphonies came out in 2009 (review) and one of Sallinen’s in 2011. Sallinen has a wide stylistic range, with dance music and jazz at one end and hard-edged modernism at the other. His music is predominantly tonal: he can write lyrically and rhythmically. Sometimes his idiom seems like a slightly more astringent version of Benjamin Britten, and there are occasional reminiscences of other composers. But he has his own flavour, which you learn to recognize.

Now we have a complete set of Sallinen’s Chamber Music series. These are not actually works of chamber music but works for chamber orchestra, all but the first for one or more solo instruments with a string orchestra. They are therefore direct successors to Hindemith’s Kammermusik series, though unlike those works these were written over a period of over thirty years. A more distant ancestor would be Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos. The solo parts mostly eschew virtuosity. The works are mostly in a single movement, though often in several sections and they are of moderate length, so the whole set – assuming Sallinen does not intend to add to it – fits onto two CDs. Although some of them have been recorded before this is the first complete set.

Chamber Music I begins in a haze from which fragments emerge leading to a melody which climbs out of clinging textures. It achieves some rhythmic definition featuring Scotch snaps before withdrawing into the mist. There is a serene coda with a beautiful tune. This is the nearest to modernism of the whole set.

Chamber Music II features an alto flute as soloist, which immediately leads one to ask why this lovely instrument is not used more often as a concerto soloist. After an exploratory opening this becomes a gentle dance. A middle section has an extended solo, not really a cadenza, and a slow polonaise. There is a short, quick finale. Of all these works this reminded me most of Britten: it could almost be the flute concerto he did not get round to writing.

After this gentle work, Chamber Music III is a riot. The title is suggestive but there is no formal programme. It is a dialogue between solo cello – enchantingly played by Arto Noras – and string orchestra in which the soloist tries to teach the orchestra some jolly dance tunes – Sallinen played in a dance band in his youth. The orchestra is at first uncomprehending but gets the knack of it but by then the soloist has moved on. I particularly enjoyed the tango section. Later, an accompanied cadenza leads to a moto perpetuo which is repeatedly interrupted before suddenly fading out.

In contrast, Chamber Music IV is a rather sombre and questioning piano concerto in four short movements. It goes back via an earlier version to a solo cello work which was the original Elegy for Sebastian Knight. The Real Life of Sebastian Knight is a novel by Vladimir Nabokov which apparently inspired Sallinen, but not having read it I can’t explore how. The idiom here struck me as rather like Hindemith but with sudden and disconcerting pauses. I liked this work a lot: it is limpid and lyrical and with a strange wondering beauty. The piano part is not virtuosic and indeed is often in single notes.

Chamber Music V is also a piano concerto, this time based on an earlier version in which the solo instrument was an accordion, and also related to another work titled Barabbas Dialogues. This is a melancholy work with an opening featuring trills which reminded me of Scriabin’s tenth piano sonata. Indeed, something of the flickering texture of that work appears here, and builds up an atmosphere of great anxiety with repeated notes and rhythms. There are momentary reminiscences of works as disparate as Scriabin’s last two sonatas, Bach, and the Spanish music of Albeniz and Granados. In a slow middle section there is a suggestion of jazz. The final section starts as a toccata but ends in doubt and uncertainty. It is a strange and haunting work.

Chamber Music VI is for solo string quartet and string orchestra, the same combination which Elgar used in his Introduction and Allegro and also Schoenberg in one of his reworkings of a baroque concerto. Sallinen’s piece is not like either. It is titled 3 invitations au voyage but the implied reference to Baudelaire’s poem or Duparc’s setting thereof is not borne out by anything I can hear. Imagine the string writing of Sibelius tinged with Bartók, though this cannot really convey the character of this music, which also has a yearning chromaticism which is all Sallinen’s own. Towards the end the mood lifts but the sense of tension remains. It is an eloquent, poignant work.

Chamber Music VII features a solo wind quintet, here, as in the previous work, played by an established group. It is a cheerful work, rather in the French tradition of Poulenc and his contemporaries. Each wind instrument gets a chance to shine. I particularly enjoyed the oboe of Nahoko Kinoshita and the clarinet of Gocho Prakov. There are some quiet, contemplative passage but these are graceful rather than poignant. It is an attractive work though perhaps too episodic to be wholly coherent.

Chamber Music VIII is another cello concerto. It is a much more serious work than Chamber Music III. It is subtitled The Trees, All Their Green, which was the title of a volume of poems by Paavo Haavikko, who also wrote the plays on which two of Sallinen’s operas were based. He died just as Sallinen was beginning work on this piece. The solo cello is the protagonist throughout and weaves a lyrical but anguished and intense line. Arto Noras is as superbly expressive here as he was witty and playful in Chamber music III.

I hope I have given a sense of the expressive range and variety of these eight works. I had already started exploring Sallinen’s symphonies, thanks to the complete set I mentioned, and have been very glad to get to know this series as well. The performances under both Ville Matvejeff and Ralf Gothóni are accomplished and the soloists play with great commitment and style. The recording is clear and unobtrusive, and there is a helpful sleeve-note, in English and Finnish only. We owe a debt to the Finnish Music Foundation which sponsored these recordings.

– MusicWeb International (Stephen Barber)

One of the most internationally well-known of Finnish composers, Aulis Sallinen (b. 1935) will celebrate his 80th birthday in 2015. In tribute, Ondine is releasing on DVD the 2002 production of his latest opera, King Lear, with the same cast that premiered the work at the Finnish National Opera in 2000. Under the direction of Okko Kamu and featuring a strong cast of singers, the work’s premiere was a great success. Legendary Finnish bass Matti Salminen sings the title role of King Lear; other singers include Lilli Paasikivi, Taina Piira, Satu Vihavainen, Petri Lindroos, Kai Pitkänen, Jorma Hynninen, Sauli Tiilikainen and Jorma Silvasti. The libretto, based on the world-famous Shakespearian tragedy, tells the tragic story of the English king Lear and his struggles with members of his own family, his enemies, and his developing madness.

...the conservative musical language rather brings Verdi to mind, and in a very real sense this cycle is a twentieth century equivalent to the latter’s Requiem: both are symphonic in construction and operatic in idiom, composed from spiritual rather than religious standpoints...

Listening to these two works by Aulis Sallinen is a bit like looking at two different photographs of the composer: the face is undeniably the same but not the perspective. Songs of Life and Death (1993-4) arose, rather by mischance, from a failed effort to compose a Requiem on verses by Lassi Nummi. Although title and outward form suggest Mahlerian associations, the conservative musical language rather brings Verdi to mind, and in a very real sense this cycle is a twentieth century equivalent to the latter’s Requiem: both are symphonic in construction and operatic in idiom, composed from spiritual rather than religious standpoints, and make use of secular elements. There are differences of course, not the least in scale and conception, which serve to underline a similarity of purpose and stature relative to their epochs. And while Sallinen's songs are very much songs of life, death is not here perceived as a grim or tragic end, and this imparts to the whole a peculiarly late twentieth-century aspect. Here at last is the choral-and-orchestral masterpiece Sibelius should have written, Finnish to the core yet international in appeal. It is, I believe, one of the very finest compositions Sallinen has yet produced...Very strongly recommended.

- Gramophone, 12/1995

Sallinen, A.: String Quartets No. 1-5

Jorma Hynninen and Paivi Nisula star in this Finish National Opera performance of the Sallinen opera conducted by Mikko Franck and directed by Pekka Milonoff. Also included are interviews with Sallinen, Milonoff, Franck, and Hynninen.

This solo album by cellist Wilhelmina Smith features works for solo cello by Esa-Pekka Salonen and Kaija Saariaho. Both composers belong to a generation of modernist Finnish composers whose work has gained broad acceptance in musical culture throughout the world. While each composer has a clear individual artistic persona, as a group they are known for pushing sonic boundaries. In writing for strings and, in particular on this recording, the cello, Salonen and Saariaho exploit the outer reaches of the technical possibilities for both the instrument and the performer. Wilhelmina Smith is an artist of intense commitment, poetic insight and dazzling versatility. As a soloist and recitalist as well as a collaborative musician and festival director, Smith has consistently advocated for composers with whom she has developed vital relationships, to have their music creatively positioned within an intellectually engaging context and performed with the utmost passion and technical assurance.

1. O helga natt / Cantique de Noël 3:56
2. Rauhaa, vain rauhaa/Peace, Perfect Peace 2:13
3. En etsi valtaa, loistoa/We Ask for Nothing Rich or Rare 3:56
4. Jo joutuu ilta/O'er Hill and Dale 2:06
5. Dies est laetitae/Herraa kaikki kiittäkää 2:05
6. Hiljaa, hiljaa helkkyellen/Softly, Softly Ringing 2:31
7. Sylvian joululaulu/Sylvia's Carol 3:50
8. Hiljainen joululaulu/The Peace of Christmas 3:51
9. Maa on niin kaunis/Schönter Herr Jesu 2:43
10. Jouluyö, juhlayö/Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht 4:13
11. On hanget korkeat nietokset/The Shining Snows are Driven High 3:07
12. Arkihuolesi kaikki heitä/Cast Off All Care 2:05
13. Enkelien joululaulu/The Angel's Carol 2:12
14. Mökit nukkuu lumiset/The Snowbound Cabins Sleep 3:27
15. Kun joulu valkeneepi/Now Christmas Is Come 1:37
16. Puer natus in Bethlehem/Synnytti piltin Beetlehem 1:02
17. Panis Angelicus/Leivästä enkelten 3:39
18. O, Jesulein süß/Oi, Jeesus, lapsi armainen 2:09
19. Santa Lucia/Pyhä Lucia 3:43
20. O Tannenbaum/Oi kuusipuu 2:32
21. White Christmas/Valkea joulu 3:45

Ritva-Liisa Korhonen, soprano
Eeva-Liisa Saarinen, mezzo soprano
Raimo Sirkiä, tenor
Jorma Silvasti, tenor
Peter Lindroos, tenor
Jorma Hynninen, baritone
Esa Ruuttunen, baritone
Matti Salminen, bass
Tampere Philharmonic Orchestra
Savonlinna Opera Festival Chorus

Kyösti Haatanen, conductor

Orchestral Music - Sibelius, J. / Grieg, E. / Nielsen, C. (S

D. SCARLATTI Harpsichord Sonatas • Janne Rättyä (acc) • ONDINE 1232-2 (57:10)


After a couple of generic paragraphs about the music, mixing the usual, uninformative clichés with some eyebrow-raising opinions (“Scarlatti introduces a veritable history of Spanish music into his style and enables sonic invention to blossom from the dry soil of the harpsichord....”), the liner notes finally deal briefly with the question that might interest anyone curious about this album: why an accordion? The answer does not satisfy: “The nuanced attention to sonic shape at every moment of the melody, figure or gesture ... the stunning range of color....”


The accordion is a keyboard-based wind instrument. Its range of color is based on stops. If you’re looking for nuance and color, the piano is far better at it, because dynamics can be applied individually to each note. Dynamics on an accordion apply to all notes across the board at any given time by varying the degree of air pumped through the bellows. It’s safer to say what the liner notes in all their vague effusiveness never point out, that Janne Rättyä is an excellent classical accordionist who has collaborated with a host of modern composers, and understandably wants to claim some Baroque territory for his instrument as well.


How does this work out in practice? Rättyä is careful to select music that plays to the strengths of his instrument. The F-Minor Sonata, K 386, features lively two-part counterpoint, and the accordionist is an agile technician. He also plays several slower works, such as the well-known Sonata in C Minor, K 11, where a guitar-like, single-note melody is played in the right hand. This allows him a degree of freedom with dynamics, and also reveals his sensitivity in phrasing. He shows himself of much of the same mind as harpsichordist Richard Lester, with his flexible, folk-inflected tempos, rather than more Italianate performances in Scarlatti’s keyboard music that emphasize consistent rhythms. Some of the moderate tempo pieces benefit from a similar treatment. The E-Major Sonata, K 135, sounds very playful here, without losing its forward pulse, and the pastoral-like G-Major Sonata, K 13, is picked out with grace.


I find matters less successful when Rättyä tries to push beyond these boundaries. The popular F Minor Sonata, K 519, and D-Minor Sonata, K 52, are muddy in their bass voicings, because the instrument’s rounder tone blends the notes of the chords rather than allowing them to stand out distinctly. But in general, the album hews to the plan laid out above: faster, two-part counterpoint pieces, and slower ones with a simple single-note melody in the right hand. This makes for a certain monotony, since there’s far more to Scarlatti than that, but a few selections at a time make for attractive listening. Up to you.


FANFARE: Barry Brenesal


The truth is that Rättyä does some amazing things from a purely mechanical point of view: some of the quicker sonatas, such as K.386 in F Minor, have seldom been played more accurately on any instrument, and the accordion’s near total absence of resonance makes it impossible for the player to hide. You just have to keep going. It’s like getting stuck on a roller coster. In slower, more emotionally affecting music the instrument frankly sounds silly. Strike that–it sounds silly everywhere, but give Rättyä credit for taking this project completely seriously and doing everything that he can with the limited resources that he’s stuck with. He even arranges the sonatas into quasi-scholarly groups by key, although he’s limited to C, F, E, G and D (major and minor). The sonics are terrific."

-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Classical Music

REVIEW:

On the face of it, it makes good sense to group these three relatively early works by Schnittke together on one disc, and the documentary interest of the issue is enhanced by the fact that both sonatas are dedicated to Mark Lubotsky. The downside is that Schnittke is rarely at his best in these pieces, and the recording allows the piano too great a degree of rather harsh prominence.

The First Sonata (1963), which documents Schnittke's emergence from the cocoon of conformity to a style that owes much to Shostakovich, and its wide range of reference, from serialism to Latin American rhythms, is now less striking than the skill with which Schnittke shapes the third movement's gradually intensifying melodic line. In the Second Sonata (1968), again, it is the growth of continuity out of fragmentation that impresses, giving the single-movement structure a substance it would otherwise lack. Even so, the sonata is more a manifesto of defiance than a fully realized proposal for a new musical order. It is to the credit of both performers that they don't try to oversell the music's aura of iconoclasm, though a recording more favorable to the violin would have done these well-considered accounts greater justice.

Schnittke concocted his Suite in the old style (1972) from various film scores. It would be unduly censorious to complain of the composer's self-indulgence in music as charming as this, and in any case a more sinister note enters the final ''Pantomime''. Here, at least, the authentically alarming later Schnittke briefly stands revealed.

-- Arnold Whittall, Gramophone [4/1994]

In these days of megaboxes and reissues, it’s surprising and delightful to see a new release that couples two beautiful quartets, immaculately played, just because–well, just because. OK, the cover art makes Tetzlaff look like a cult leader hanging out with his three sister-wives, but happily his eponymous quartet doesn’t fall prey to any Svengali-like mind control from its first violin. Their work is that of a true quartet, well-balanced, precise, and with a welcome give-and-take between the parts.

This is particularly true of the Schubert, a work whose strange harmonies and endless tremolo textures foreshadow Bruckner, and which demand a particularly sensitive handling of the relationship between melody and accompaniment. The first movement relishes its quasi orchestral textures, but without ever letting us forget that this really is chamber music. In both of the outer movements tempos are particularly well judged, with the constant seesawing between major and minor in the finale producing a truly disturbing, almost queasy effect.

Haydn’s Quartet in G minor, Op. 20 (No. 3) makes an ideal disc mate, even leaving aside its complementary tonality. Its first movement, particularly, offers plenty of uneasy emotional ambiguity that’s very well captured here. Charles Rosen, in The Classical Style, presented a typically penetrating analysis, calling its handling of rhythm and motivic development positively upsetting; and in this interpretation the evident care with dynamics and sense of timing conveys the darkness just below the surface particularly well.

In short, this is a throwback: a classical music release without a stupid title or ridiculous concept, one that lets the greatness of the music speak for itself and offers interpretations that justify the program through purely musical means. Wonder of wonders. It deserves your support, and will reward your close attention. - ClassicsToday.com
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A MusicWeb International Recording of the Month!

Is there, I wonder, a greater string quartet than Schubert’s D.887, Beethoven’s notwithstanding? Certainly it is one of the most profound, moving and indeed disturbing works in that genre, rivalled only by the same composer’s string quintet and characterised by an eternal paradox in its typically Schubertian endless melodic stream and its equally typical sense of impending death, doom and destruction. The finale must emerge as a Dance of Death, a startlingly brutal musical depiction of dissolution almost two hundred years before Stravinsky utilised that trope in “The Rite of Spring”, a brave and desperate defiance of the inevitable masked by enforced jollity - and the Tetzlaff Quartet really nail the mood.

Their playing is swift and invariably tightly focused, never “prettified”, sometimes raw, with sparing use of vibrato, and technically flawless execution of the frequent tremolos. The recorded sound is very detailed and more intimate than, say, the Alban Berg or Allegri Quartets; their broader acoustics match their grander, more overt manner, but where the Tetztlaff really excels is in its scrupulous and invariably unanimous application of dynamics, which greatly enhances the intensity of its playing. That attention to nuance is reinforced by their observation in the booklet notes regarding how the dynamic markings go “from triple piano with diminuendo to triple forte with crescendo”. Those notes provide little factual information on the music itself, being a transcription of a conversation about its emotional hinterland and impact of this constantly questioning music. Mahler’s wry aphorism comes to mind: “If a composer could say what he had to say in words he would not bother to say it in music” – although perhaps a review should be wary of smugly borrowing his bon mot given that the same principle could apply to reviewing.

The first movement is chilling and gripping, its grotesqueries fully realised. The Andante contains some of the most beautiful and unsettling music ever written, exhibiting wonderful control of pianissimi and concluding in almost serene and consolatory mode. The Scherzo is featherlight and delicate in the Mendelssohnian manner, the waltz-time Trio ideally elegant.

If Schubert’s quartet represents some kind of apex in the form then there is an evident logic in including in the programme here a work which was seminal in its inception and establishment. However, there is also the programmatic rationale of establishing a thematic link between these two quartets. If Goethe’s dictum is correct, that the string quartet is “a conversation between four intelligent people”, then in the case of these two works all the participants are to some degree disordered, yet we undoubtedly hear four equal voices, each claiming conversational ascendancy in turn, such is the virtuosity and equilibrium of the Tetzlaffs’ playing. Haydn’s work is disturbing in a manner similar to that of Schubert’s, in that the music evinces a frequent and shocking undercurrent of dissatisfaction and even anger, although it hardly achieves the same scorched emotiveness as Schubert’s masterwork. This is wild, erratic and fragmented music by early Classical period standards; even the supposedly courtly Menuet is more melancholy and unsettled than “galant” and three of the movements conclude by simply tailing off in a piano muttering in a manner most unconventional and even unsatisfactory by the measure of the age. The Trio of the Scherzo is incongruously cheerful as if it hardly belongs in the quartet at all while the Adagio, exquisitely played here, provides another such interlude of unexpected serenity in an otherwise fitful and capricious work whose restlessness goes a long way towards justifying its kinship with D887. A final irony is that there is no evidence that this or any other string quartets were ever performed in Esterházy; it seems that Haydn wrote them out of an inner compulsion to exorcise his demons while marooned in that civilised but remote gilded cage.

Comparison with the esteemed Buchberger Quartet in the Haydn reveals that the Buchberger is more assertive and plays in a more overtly “con spirito” manner than the Tetzlaff, who are perhaps occasionally almost too refined but thereby bring out the subtleties of this extraordinary music; I would not let that count as a demerit, especially when the pairing here succeeds so triumphantly.

– MusicWeb International (Ralph Moore)

Classical Music

Following Lars Vogt's massively popular recording of Bach's Goldberg Variations, this new recording features much-loved piano works by Franz Schubert. Vogt was appointed the first ever "Pianist in Residence" by the Berlin Philharmonic in 2003-2004 and enjoys a high profile as a soloist and chamber musician. Schubert's Impromptus, D. 899 and the famous Moments musicaux are some of his most well-known pieces that are featured on this release.

This new double-album by pianist Lars Vogt, violinist Christian Tetzlaff and cellist Tanja Tetzlaff includes some of Franz Schubert's greatest works of chamber music, including his Piano Trios and the Arpeggione Sonata in breath-taking interpretations. Pianist Lars Vogt tragically passed away on September 5, 2022 due to a serious illness before this album of Schubert’s chamber music was released. This album stands as a testament of his outstanding chamber musicianship together with his long-time chamber music partners Christian Tetzlaff and Tanja Tetzlaff. “If not much time remains, then it’s a worthy farewell. - - Incomprehensible. Such expression. Such fragility, such love.”

REVIEWS:

These are studio recordings made in separate sessions in 2021. Everything one could want in Schubert’s Piano Trios is present: rhythmic buoyancy, beautiful phrasing, united ensemble playing that still leaves room for individual voices, and inner joy in the music-making. There’s also the ineffable feeling of sympathy among three friends who feel free to be themselves without departing from the wholeness of a performance.

-- Fanfare

These 2020–2021 recordings containing the complete extant works for piano trio of Franz Schubert and featuring the well-known trio of cellist Tanja Tetzlaff, pianist Lars Vogt, and Tanja’s brother, violinist Christian Tetzlaff, are being released at this time partly in memory of Vogt’s untimely passing in September of last year. The recollections of both Tetzlaffs and their dignified expressions of sorrow for the loss of a longtime friend and collaborator who will certainly be very difficult to replace as the piano voice of the trio are most eloquent and moving.

In two well-filled CDs we are given all the music Schubert is known to have written for piano, violin and cello, including Piano Trios No. 1 in B-flat, D898 (Op. 99) and No. 2 in E-flat Major, D929 (Op. 100), the indescribably lovely Notturno in E-flat, D897, which was originally intended as the slow movement of Trio No. 1; a “Rondo brillant” in B Minor. D895; and a fine arrangement for cello and piano of the “Arpeggione” Sonata in A Minor, D821. The last-named gave new viability to a richly textured work originally written for a hybrid instrument that was soon considered strictly from Vaudeville and vanished from the musical scene.

All these works receive a stamp of excellence for the artistry Vogt and the Tetzlaffs apply here.

-- Audio Video Club of Atlanta (Phil Muse)

Helsinki Baroque Orchestra and the Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir led by Aapo Häkkinen join their forces together with an impressive vocal cast in this unique release of rarely heard choral works by Robert Schumann. This recording includes the world première recording of Schumann’s 17-minute Adventlied, Op. 71 for soloists, chorus and orchestra, four choral ballades based on texts by Emanuel Geibel, and Schumann’s version of Bach’s Cantata BWV 105. Robert Schumann wrote in 1850: “Keep in mind that there are also singers, and that the highest in musical expression is achieved through the chorus and orchestra.” This illustrates well the composer’s desire to write large works for this medium in an attempt to create a new genre for the concert hall. Today, they still constitute the least explored area of his output. The elevated style he was aspiring to was unheard-of outside the realm of church music. In fact, whether for the church, opera, or the concert hall, Schumann was looking for a sanctified realm, a Goethe-inspired meeting ground for art and religion. Adventlied, Op. 71, was written in November 1848 to a text from Friedrich Rückert’s Pantheon. Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir (EPCC) is one of the best-known Estonian music groups in the world. The repertoire of the choir extends from baroque to contemporary music, focusing on the work of Estonian composers. Helsinki Baroque’s sound has enthralled listeners from the Cologne Philharmonie to Tokyo’s Suntory Hall and the Amsterdam Concertgebouw, and at major festivals such as Bergen, Bremen, Rheingau, and Jerusalem.

This album marks Peter Jablonski’s debut for the Ondine label. Alexander Scriabin (1872–1915) created an impressive catalogue of works for the piano and became one of the great innovators in 20th century music. In his early works, the listener can sense the composer’s great admiration for the art of Frédéric Chopin. This is especially manifested in the over 20 Mazurkas that Scriabin wrote for the solo piano, the very same form of music that Chopin followed throughout his active years as a composer. Jablonski's album includes all Scriabin's Mazurkas with an opus number as well as two early Mazurkas.

REVIEW:

Peter Jablonski reaches in an brings out this music's opium-laced perfumes and colors, and projects their intoxicating essence very well. The music of Alexander Scriabin is not concerned with notes, but rather with what these notes can evoke. Jablonski's got this covered.

– Classical Music Sentinel (Jean-Yves Duperron)

This CD features the acclaimed Finnish pianist Olli Mustonen with piano works by Alexander Scriabin, which have become his signature pieces in concert. Olli Mustonen has been hailed by The Sunday Times as, “a living dream of pianism, having broken through an expressive barrier that other players do not know exists.”

• With this release Ondine presents two dramatic works by Dmitri Shostakovich, The Execution of Stepan Razin and the Zoya Suite, coupled with his Suite on Finnish Themes.
• The Execution of Stepan Razin, premiered in Moscow in 1964, got a mixed reception. The execution scene and the final, tragic vision is simply spine-chilling: Stepan Razin’s bloody head rolls to the ground and bursts out laughing at the Tsar. Capturing rich intonations and melodies of the text, the bass soloist and the chorus engage in a multi-layered dialogue of this very theatrical work.

Dmitri Hvorostovsky's fourth release on Ondine features a program of rarely recorded sonnets by Dmitri Shostakovich and Franz Liszt. Hvorostovsky is accompanied by his longtime duo partner, the Estonian pianist Ivari Ilja. Shostakovich's sonnets, considered one of the achievements of contemporary Russian vocal music, were composed as his health worsened and are filled with ruminations on mortality. Liszt's sonnets are based on love poems by the Italian Renaissance writer Petrarch. Both Hvorostovsky and Ilja brin great empathy to these compositions, matching the contemplative nature of both with quietly powerful and confident performances.

REVIEW:

Hvorostovsky offers searching readings of Shostakovich's rugged, jagged songs which are full of resignation and bittersweet regret, of loss and separation. There are few things finer than Hvorostovsky in full flight and Liszt’s Petrarch Sonnets allow him the chance to open up the Italianate warmth in his baritone, with impassioned accounts, especially of Sonnet 47.

– Gramophone

SHOSTAKOVICH Cello Concertos Nos. 1 and 2 • Truls Mørk (vc); Vasily Petrenko, cond; Oslo PO • ONDINE 1218-2 (64:59) Live: Oslo 1/30–2/1/2013


These cello concertos are relatively late works, and both were written for Mstislav Rostropovich. The First appeared in 1959, six years after the death of Stalin, at a time when official pressure on the composer had eased––yet Shostakovich never got over the terrors of the 1940s. This is the perfect work to illustrate the position he was in. Soviet authorities at the time of the Cold War were locked into an “anything you can do, we can do better” standoff with the rest of the world, particularly with the USA, so they needed to show off their world-famous composer. For the same reason, they allowed the West access to their greatest musicians, including Rostropovich. All was fine as long as everybody toed the official Communist line, but Soviet officials never really trusted Shostakovich, and rightly so. The concerto quite plainly depicts the cries of a desperate individual (the cello) up against the power of the state (the orchestra). There is no room for compromise on either side. In the cadenza preceding the finale, the cello hopelessly repeats thematic fragments like a soul trapped, while a passage of sour, circus-like music in the final movement sees the protagonist going through his paces with pointless, frenzied zeal. The work is unambiguously autobiographical: Shostakovich introduces himself in the cello’s opening phrases with the repeated DSCH motif, so there is never any doubt who this solo cello is intended to personify.


The Second Cello Concerto was composed in 1966, just prior to Symphony No. 14, a symphonic song cycle in which he set poems on the subject of death. The two works came in the wake of a heart attack. Fittingly, the cello part, while still in opposition to outside forces, now seems more reflective and less inclined to protest (except for parts of the short Allegretto movement). The brief cadenza in this work depicts resignation: quiet desperation and regret rather than defiance, an attitude that would color all of the composer’s subsequent music.


This kind of pop-psych analysis of Shostakovich’s music is frowned upon in some quarters, but is inescapable when faced with a recording like this one. Mørk identifies completely with the cello-as-individual approach, as anyone who has seen and heard him live in the First Concerto will attest. He attacks both works with every fiber of his being, to coin a cliché, precisely conveying each emotional nuance of the score. The personal nature of his performance is emphasized here by a close-up recording: We hear both soloist and orchestra from the conductor’s point of view, literally “in your face.” Petrenko’s Shostakovich has been much praised, and he elicits thoroughly committed playing from the soloists and sections of the orchestra. At the very opening of the First Concerto, where the cello’s DSCH phrases are answered by repeated chords in the winds, I thought their response was a fraction slower each time than the tempo set by Mørk, or at least not as decisively delivered. From then on the orchestral support is unswerving, with exceptionally strong work from the first horn.


The Norwegian cellist has recorded both concertos before. His previous disc was made in 1995 for Virgin, where he was accompanied by the London Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Mariss Jansons. (Ironically, Jansons was then Chief Conductor of the Oslo Philharmonic.) That earlier recording has a more straightforward balance, with the orchestra set back, allowing Mørk’s cello to dominate. His interpretation does not seem to have changed substantially over 18 years––he was magnificent then, too––but the current recording brings greater immediacy. The London orchestra strikes me as tighter in ensemble but less emotionally involved. The earlier disc is nevertheless extremely fine. I would also recommend hearing the larger-than-life, Romantically inclined rendition of both concertos on DG by Misha Maisky (with the London Symphony Orchestra under Michael Tilson Thomas)––especially moving in the Second––and it goes without saying that Rostropovich in any of his recordings is in a class of his own.


FANFARE: Phillip Scott